Yesterday's Secrets

By Peggy P Parsons

A cross-country journey is just the beginning of Janlou's adventure after she escapes from a mean stepmother and changes her name to conceal her identity.

She feels compelled to go back home only to discover she was stolen at age 4 and has a whole new family, including a twin sister to get to know.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613091555

Book preview

One

Sometimes when you’re not looking

Love sneaks through a door

You didn’t know you left open

Cold chills skittered down Saree’s spine as Papa and Belle returned to the dining room after walking their six guests to the front door.

You shouldn’t have kicked Jerry under the table, Papa said, his green eyes narrowed to thin slits. You disgraced me in front of my boss. After you do the dishes, go to your room. You’re grounded for a week.

Saree knew better than to argue, but she dared one squeaky question. Y’all will let me go to work won’t you, Papa?

No. Hatred filled her stepmother’s beady eyes. I’ll call the librarian and tell her you’re sick.

Don’t react, Saree ordered herself. You can handle this.

Hoping to escape to the kitchen, she picked up the gold-rimmed plates she had stacked on the table and took a cautious step sideways.

Don’t walk away from us, Belle growled, her voice slurred from the alcohol she had consumed before, during and after dinner. Your father isn’t finished talking to you.

Saree gripped the dessert plates so tightly her hands hurt. But if she set the plates down, Papa might extend his tirade. And if he didn’t, Belle would likely goad him until he did.

You deserve to be punished, he growled in a drunken slur.

Let me handle her, Franklin, Belle snarled, an ugly gleam in her cruel eyes.

Saree’s stomach balled into a twisted knot. If she complained, the punishment might be worse. Still, she couldn’t resist defending herself tonight. Jerry—Mr. Vickon put his hand on my leg, under my skirt and started to slide it up my leg, toward my—um—privates. I kicked him to dislodge his hand.

You’re lying. Shades of purple mixed with the red already coloring Papa’s mottled face. Jerry would never act with improper conduct.

Why would I lie? she blurted, hurt that he didn’t believe her.

Because you’re trying to excuse your own bad behavior, Belle shrieked.

A month, Papa roared before Saree could defend herself again. You’re grounded for a month.

No, Belle shouted. For the rest of your life. She raised her fist and waved it menacingly. You’ll not step foot out of this house ever again, you lazy good-for-nothing brat.

Saree blinked, unable to swallow the lump clogging her throat. Did Belle really think she could keep her grounded forever? If so, the Yankee lady had more than one screw loose.

When Belle sidled closer, Saree took a cautious step backwards. Her stepmother’s breath reeked of alcohol and garlic from the shrimp and grits dinner Saree had cooked after she got home from work. If I don’t show up at the library, I’ll lose my job, she said, forcing herself to speak with quiet reasoning.

You’re only volunteering, Belle wheezed with an ugly sneer.

Saree didn’t react. She had worked part-time at the Spartanburg County Library Headquarters since her junior year in high school. After graduation last week, she had started working full-time. Although she had always been paid, Belle didn’t know that. If she did, the greedy lady would have seized every cent, just as she always confiscated whatever money Saree earned babysitting.

You owe your father for raising you, Belle said, with another unpleasant sneer. And you’ll work off your debt by cleaning and scrubbing this house every day until it shines. She shook her finger, missing Saree’s nose by a mere inch. You’ll do exactly as I say, and there will be no talking back. Do you hear?

Afraid to disagree, Saree meekly nodded.

Watching Papa, wishing he’d stick up for her just this once, she didn’t realize Belle raised her arm higher. When she rammed her fist against Saree’s face, excruciating pain slammed through her head.

Blood spurted from her nose. She raised her hands to stem the flow as shattering glass clattered around her bare ankles. A few chips bounced off the hardwood floor and lodged between her toes. When she jumped back to avoid another punch, sharp glass cut into feet. Unfortunately she had removed her sandals before she started to clear the table.

In a stupor, she stared down at the blood seeping out beneath her heels, then at the broken china scattered across the shiny floor. Holding her breath, she waited in fear of what might happen next.

To her surprise, Papa turned on Belle, yelling at her instead of his only daughter.

You shouldn’t have hit Saree, he said. She was holding my wife’s priceless china.

Well, I’m your wife now, Franklin, and don’t you forget it. Belle pointed her finger again, shaking it at him. And your stupid daughter shouldn’t have been holding so many plates. Why didn’t you and your precious Minnie teach her to carry one at a time?

Disgusted with Belle’s drunken logic, but relieved to have her attention focused on Papa instead of on her, Saree decided to make herself scarce. In her haste, she bumped the table. The white linen tablecloth began to slide. She reached out, trying to stop it, but failed. The cattywampus cloth and everything on top, including crystal water glasses and wine goblets, crashed to the floor.

Belle’s shrill scream rattled throughout the house, bouncing off the walls. Now look at what you’ve done, you clumsy bitch.

More scared than she’d ever been, Saree dashed away. The glass trapped between her toes and embedded in her feet cut deeper, but she didn’t dare stop. If Belle caught her, she might beat her, and in his drunken state, Papa probably wouldn’t be able to stop her, even if he tried.

Pain of a different kind shot through her as she ran, cupping her sore nose, blood oozing between her fingers. Papa cared more about the broken china than he did about her. That truth hurt more than anything had since Mama died three years ago. But in a way, it also set her free, and cemented her decision to leave. For months she had been planning her escape. It was time to go.

Inside her bedroom, Saree slammed the door. Her breath came in short gasps as she heaved the dresser in front of the door, then shoved her single bed against it for reinforcement.

With her pulse hammering, she swiped her bloody hands on the flowery lavender comforter before she bent to remove the shards of glass from her feet. As she dug it out, sharp edges pricked her fingers, making them bleed as well.

Panic built inside while she wiped them on the bed again. She had to hurry.

Grabbing her pillow, she jerked off the flowered sham and stuffed it with clothes and shoes. Having planned this in total detail, she knew exactly what to pack, and what to ignore.

The shouting match in the dining room escalated.

Afraid her escape might be thwarted, she jammed her bloody feet into a pair of sandals while she twisted the sham together. Pushing the window open, she slammed the bulky contents at the screen. It bounced, but stayed in place.

She heard Papa and Belle raging at each other as they made their way through the house toward her bedroom. They’d be even more furious when they couldn’t get in.

Adrenalin poured through her veins as she hurtled the stuffed sham against the screen again. Still, it remained rooted in its track.

Her parents pounded on the door. Belle shouted obscenities when they couldn’t budge it open.

In desperation, Saree spun a chair over to the window and climbed up, kicking the screen, sending it clattering to the ground. Without wasting another precious second, she jumped.

The hard landing jarred her head, a painful reminder of Belle’s vicious punch. Ignoring the sharp pain, she scampered to her feet, clasping the sham to her chest as she dashed across the recently mown lawn.

When she reached the sidewalk, dogs began to bark and lights turned on in two houses across the street. She groaned. It must be past midnight. Papa’s friends had stayed late. Had the loud shouting match awakened the neighbors? If so, it wouldn’t be the first time they called the police to report Belle and Franklin Naisbet were disturbing the peace.

Afraid someone might stop her, Saree ran as though her life depended on it. Clutching her possessions with one hand, she swiped at the blood still dribbling from her nose with the other. The metallic taste made her gag and she nearly retched. She forced the nausea back. But she couldn’t ignore the cuts on her heels and between her toes. Or the painful throbbing at the bridge of her nose. Was it broken?

Fear added to her haste. She wouldn’t be free until she got out of town. Even then, she doubted she’d feel safe. Never would she go home. Belle hated her. Saree didn’t know why. She loathed Belle’s drinking and despised her screaming rants. Most of the time she convinced Papa to drink with her, and if an argument occurred, which it usually did, he always sided with Belle against her.

A siren sounded in the distance.

Saree screeched her sore feet to a halt. Her gaze darted in every direction. Where could she hide?

Spying a lamppost ahead, she dashed behind it. By some miracle, the light at the top was out. Praying the post concealed her, she arched her neck and pinched her nose, trying to squelch the bloody flow while she held her breath.

Her heart pounded like a loud drum, and terror made her whole body shake as a black and white police car whizzed by, red lights flashing, siren blaring. When the driver turned left at the intersection, she heaved a ragged sigh of relief. They weren’t going to her house.

Spurred into action, she ran again.

When her racing heart or the pain in her feet made running impossible, she slowed to a jog or fast walk, concentrating on her plans. First she had to get the money stashed in a locker at the bus station. The money was her ticket to the future—her way to disappear and put Belle out of her life.

She kept the locker key taped to her skin, inside the modest panties Belle insisted she wear. The only time she removed the key was when it came off in the shower. She always taped it to a new spot after she dried off.

Months ago, she had withdrawn all the money from her secret savings account and stashed it in her locker, along with a few other necessities, including the social security card and driver’s license of her best friend’s deceased cousin. For a while she had considered assuming the dead girl’s name, but the driver’s license photo didn’t look anything like her, so she had decided to use a name that had lived in her head from her earliest memories—Janalou—the name from a rhyme she couldn’t forget. Janalou loves Jeri Sue. Jeri Sue loves Janalou. And Winnie the Pooh loves both of you.

Although she didn’t know anyone named Janalou or Jeri Sue, she dreamed about them often, and every time she thought about the rhyme, an odd warmth speared through her, reminding her of her dear dead mama’s warm smile and kind, gentle nature. How could Papa marry someone like Belle after being married to an angel princess like Minnie?

SEATED ON THE BUS ACROSS the aisle from Reina, his middle-aged friend and his reason for flying to the east coast, Kree Winterton glanced at his watch. Not quite 1:00 a.m. When today’s bus had been late, he had suggested checking into a hotel room and catching tomorrow’s bus. Reina had persuaded him to take this one, instead, convinced it would be less crowded and they could sleep while they traveled.

She’d been right. And wrong. Most of the passengers had opted to wait, so only a dozen people occupied the big bus. But Kree couldn’t sleep. Not only was his mind working overtime, it was alert and in full gear, as though waiting for something exciting to happen.

Through the dark window he spotted a mileage sign. Fifty miles to Spartanburg, South Carolina. A grin curved his lips. If his friends could see him now, riding a bus in the middle of the night, they’d burst out laughing. He’d done it for Reina. Years ago she had worked as a domestic for his parents, and he loved her almost as much as he loved his own mother. He’d do just about anything for her, including taking time off to fly east and ride the bus back home with her because after attending her niece’s wedding, Reina didn’t want to fly ever again.

Kree leaned back and crossed his ankles, hoping to catch some shut-eye. Sleeping might make the journey go faster. But his mind wouldn’t slow down. Usually he could sleep anywhere. But tonight anticipation pumped adrenalin through his system, making him feel hyper, as though he were expecting some sort of life-altering change to occur.

Telling himself nothing unusual or monumental would happen on this uncrowded bus, he closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander back to a happier time. How different would his life be now if Bethany, Reina’s daughter and the only girl he had ever loved, hadn’t died three years ago?

Her death had been such a shock he still hadn’t recovered. There were times when he half expected to see her again, blinking impishly, winking flirtatiously, or smiling because they were together, happily planning their next date. Or their future.

Two

Just when Saree thought her lungs might burst, she reached the bus station. Gasping for breath, she peeked through the door. No other travelers. Thank goodness.

Too pumped up to worry about her sore feet or the new pain throbbing in her side, she dashed inside and ran to the lockers. Too bad she didn’t have the money she earned for her last paycheck, but she didn’t dare hang around to collect it.

As she peeled off the tape holding the locker key against her skin below the waistband of her blue denim skirt, she grimaced. Thank goodness her nose and fingers had finally stopped bleeding.

Glad to be alone in the historic station, she opened the locker, dug out her new backpack and stuffed her blood-stained sham inside, leaving all but one envelope filled with money in the pack’s zippered pockets. She had saved almost six thousand dollars. Hopefully it would last until she found another job and got her first paycheck.

Although the station was old, the technology was new, up-to-date state-of-the-art. As she’already practiced a thousand times in her mind, she fed the computerized ticket machine some bills. When her ticket gushed out with a noisy swish, her insides quivered with relief.

High on one wall a computerized screen displayed schedules. A delay worked in her favor. Instead of having to wait for tomorrow’s 7:10 a.m. bus, tonight’s 9:30 p.m. would arrive around 2:00 a.m. Having checked her destination on a library computer, she knew the journey would take three days of continuous travel, and entail six transfers along the way.

Too keyed up to relax, she went to the ladies’ room and washed the blood off her hands and face. She glanced in the mirror. And frowned. Belle’s punch had given her a puffy red nose and the beginning of two black eyes.

Grateful to be away from her cruel stepmother at last, she changed her blood-stained blouse. If she threw it away, someone might find it and somehow track it to her.

She stuffed the blouse in her backpack. After squeezing the zippered pouch closed, she dabbed at the dried blood between her toes, not surprised her feet felt as numb as her hands after clutching her possessions for the three miles she had run.

When she left the ladies’ room, she stood by the station windows. Where was the bus? Were Papa and Belle looking for her yet?

Terrified they or the police might show up, she constantly looked up and down the street.

A few minutes before two 2:00 a.m., she ventured back outside. The late May night had turned chilly. She dug inside the backpack for her jacket, shaking so badly from nerves her teeth clattered. The only way she kept them still was by clenching her jaw, but that made the bridge of her injured nose hurt even more.

By the time the bus arrived, her raw nerves were in jeopardy of getting the best of her. As soon as the twin doors slid open, she climbed on board. After the bus driver accepted her ticket, she turned toward the aisle.

A short man dressed all in green, including an old baseball cap with the letter L embossed in white on the top, stood in front of her, a green duffle bag in hand. A merry twinkle lit his green eyes and he smiled before he hefted his bag up to the overhead bin and sat down.

Thinking he had been about to get off, and wondering why he had changed his mind, Saree tiptoed down the aisle, belatedly trying to protect the cuts on her sore heels. She took mental notes of the other passengers. There weren’t many, only twelve, and two were children. All except the middle-aged man wearing green, and one considerably younger man, had their eyes closed and she assumed they were asleep. The young man’s stare made her insides cringe. With a swollen nose and ugly facial bruises, she knew she looked frightful. Regretfully there was nothing she could do about it.

At the back of the bus, she plunked on the last seat opposite the onboard john, then slung her blue pack onto her lap and clutched it to her chest. Two of the passengers looked like grimy swamp rats, so she’d be wise to stay on guard.

Although the bus was warm, she couldn’t squelch the shivers playing tag up and down her arms and legs. Never had she done anything this daring. In the space of a few hours, she had accidentally destroyed some of Mama’s precious china and crystal, then packed a few meager belongings and run away.

Loosening her grip on her pack, she tried to relax, but couldn’t. Her nose hurt. So did her feet as the numbness began to wear off. The metallic coppery taste of blood was still in her mouth, too, and the pain in her side gnawed with each breath she drew. But thankfully none of it was unbearable.

When the sound of sirens pierced the dark night air, her heart jumped half way up her throat. Had Papa or Belle called the police? Were they looking for her?

Renewed panic clamped around her chest like a vise, and she found it difficult to breathe when the bus driver pulled off the road and braked to a stop on the gravel shoulder before he turned on the inside lights.

Saree gulped. Fear had a smell. She inhaled it like bitter medicine. Suddenly sick to her stomach, she clamped a hand over her mouth, willing herself not to barf. Were the sirens the police? Were they after her? She knew bus drivers always turned on the interior lights when they stopped at night, but why did he have to do it now? Couldn’t she have just a little bit of luck?

She scrunched her shoulders, trying to shrink inside her skin, wishing she had someplace to hide.

Bile rose in her throat, and her queasy stomach threatened to rebel as a police squad car sped by, red lights flashing. The blaring siren awakened all the adult passengers. Each one stared out the dark windows. Seconds later, a loud ambulance rushed beyond them, followed by a noisy fire engine.

After the emergency vehicles whizzed out of sight, the driver pulled back onto the road. Saree’s heart settled back down. Almost.

When the young man turned his head and stared again, Saree’s breath got trapped in her throat. He’s so good-looking. And she had caught a whiff of his pleasant spicy masculine scent when she’d tip-toed past him. His jet black hair was as dark as hers and his curious blue eyes seemed to peer inside her quaking heart.

Calm down, she admonished herself, sucking in a quick breath. And don’t be impressed with the blue-eyed stranger. You don’t have room in your life for guys right not. Not even one as handsome as he. Besides, with his looks he must already have a girlfriend. Maybe more than one.

Her heart raced as he continued to stare. She forced herself to look away. Her gaze settled on the stocky middle-aged man in green.

He smiled and touched the brim of his green baseball cap. Saree blinked. Was he flirting? He looked harmless enough.

An icy chill froze her thumping heart. She was all alone with no one to protect her. Not that she’d had much protection at home. After Papa married Belle last year, he had ignored her, often drinking himself into a stupor when he was home and totally unaware of Belle’s cruelty.

Misgivings twisted through Saree. Had she done the right thing by leaving? Should she have stayed home and continued to put up with Belle’s tantrums and abuse? Was the devil she knew better than the one she didn’t?

Riddled with fear and doubts, she drew in a batch of shallow breaths, relieved when both men turned their heads and the driver flipped off the lights. The other passengers leaned back in their seats. Saree assumed they fell back asleep.

Some of her apprehension retreated, and her heartbeat slowed. But she couldn’t relax. Turmoil and fear held her in separate clutches. If she slept, she might be taken unawares. Someone could steal her possessions, and her money.

She clutched her backpack tighter. From now on she must be careful. Very, very careful. Her pack contained everything she owned.

ALTHOUGH KREE CLOSED his eyes, sleep continued to elude him. Was the stranger the reason he couldn’t settle down? Was she in some kind of trouble? If so, would he be able to help her?

He shook his head at the absurd thought. He couldn’t be responsible for every person he encountered. Still, he couldn’t help wondering why the girl had caught a bus in the middle of the night. Where did she live? Where did she intend to go? And why did she look like a frightened, injured rabbit who was much too young to be traveling alone?

WHEN THE SKY BEGAN to lighten with the dawning of the first day of her new life, Saree squared her shoulders. Determination surged inside. In spite of Belle’s caustic criticisms, she wasn’t a lazy good-for-nothing brat. She was a GRITS–a Girl Raised in the South, and dear, dead Mama would approve of her finally taking control of her life and putting mean-spirited Belle behind her.

Riding high on those positive thoughts, Saree reveled in the marvelous sensations flooding her. Freedom. Independence. A sense of wonder. Maybe now she could live, not merely exist.

The logical part of her mind issued a few words of caution. Don’t look back. And never use your given name again. You don’t like Saree anyway. Most people sound like they’re saying Sorry instead of Saree.

Her new name, Janalou, had a familiar ring, almost as though it were her real name. It was her alter ego, the name she had chosen for her new life, her new identity—Janalou Madsen, whose parents she had already decided, were both dead.

As the bus approached the outskirts of Atlanta, the driver announced, Since we’re off schedule, I’ll stop for everyone to eat breakfast before we go to the station. There are no eating facilities at or near the Atlanta bus station. When we reach Knoxville later today, there will be a layover for those with transfers. On behalf of Greyhound, I apologize for the inconvenience our delay might have caused.

After quiet reigned again, Janalou made more plans. By the time the bus stopped, she had invented an entire history that didn’t include Saree Nesbitt or Franklin and Belle.

KREE BIT INTO THE GOOEY center of his cinnamon roll. The sweet pastry satisfied his taste buds as he smiled at Reina, perched on a chair across from him in a small café on one side of the busy Atlanta street.

Reina smiled back, a gentle expression in her kind brown eyes. Years ago when he had fallen in love with her daughter and asked Bethany to marry him, she had replied with a joyful ‘yes,’ and thrown herself against his chest so fast they had both stumbled backwards and fallen onto the grassy lawn in front of her mother’s home. Shortly after they announced their plans, his parents fired Reina, and told Bethany she wasn’t good enough for him. Before he had a chance to convince her it didn’t matter what his parents said, Bethany stepped out in front of a bus and got herself killed. She’d been unable to bear the pain and humiliation of their rejection. And part of him still blamed them for her death.

Your smiles always be sad, Reina said, like they contain loss of the whole universe.

Kree licked the icing off his lips before he replied. Perhaps because Bethany was my universe.

"It’s been three years, Kree. I love you like you my own nino, and I no like to see you unhappy for so long a time."

I’m not unhappy.

Reina shook her head in vigorous disagreement. At forty-five, she didn’t have a single gray hair. It was still as coal black as Bethany’s had been. You must bury the past, she said. "Bethany not come back from dead.

Kree hiked his brows, but kept his tone low. Do you think I don’t know that?

Reina glanced down at her plate of scrambled eggs, sprinkled with Tabasco in lieu of salsa. I thought a reminder might be helpful. You need find someone else to love.

Easier said than done. Although he dated, Kree didn’t intend to open his heart to love again, at least not for a long time. Bethany was my soul mate, he said, doubting he’d ever find another. Besides, I have a bunch of bachelor buddies, and I like being single. And I don’t intend to change my status just to please other people.

"What about family? I see you with nieces and nephews. They adore you. And you love them, too, no?

Yes, and someday I’ll probably marry, he said. But not until he was ready. Maybe in ten or twenty years. But not yet. It was still too soon, and would feel like a betrayal to Bethany.

Let’s talk about something else, he said as Reina forked a bite of her fluffy eggs.

You have idea? she asked, her brown eyes locked with his.

Not sure what to suggest, Kree raised his glass and sipped orange juice.

I want to ask something, Reina said.

What?

Were your mama and papa upset because you flew across the country to accompany me home on bus?

Kree forced himself not to frown. When he arranged for time off, he had been purposely vague. His two sisters understood his relationship with Reina. His parents didn’t. Sometimes he thought they acted jealous of the time he spent with her. He made no secret of the fact that he talked to Reina every week, bought her chocolates on Valentine’s Day, flowers on Easter and Mother’s Day, as well as birthday and Christmas gifts. He took her out to dinner at least once a month, too. Reina was his only link to Bethany, and he kept her spirit alive by staying in touch.

I work with Mom and Dad, he said, but I don’t tell them everything I do.

Reina stared him in the eye, her message clear before she spoke. You should not blame them for Bethany dying. You must accept her death as I do. It be her time to go.

I can’t make myself believe that, he said, because part of him would always blame his parents and himself for their part in her death.

An emotion he interpreted as regret clouded Reina’s dark eyes, but all she said was, Your mama and papa—they only want the best for you, no?

Bethany was the best. He swallowed a slug of hot coffee before he said, You’re beginning to sound like them. They keep nagging me to find a wife, and start a family.

Fault them not for that, she advised. You be their only son, and it be up to you to carry on family name. Besides, you not getting younger. You be quarter of a century now.

Not used to having Reina poke into his personal life, he said, Why don’t we find something else to discuss?

She shrugged her plump shoulders, but didn’t hesitate this time. The girl who got on bus in middle of night—she look like somebody beat her up.

Kree did his best to keep his expression neutral. Reina had caught him staring at the stranger, but she couldn’t know his gut reaction. He had drawn in a deep breath, feeling as though somebody had socked him in the gut. Hard. The girl didn’t look like Bethany exactly but she did resemble her with that long black hair and those dark soulful eyes. She had an attractive figure, but her face was a mess. Had she been beaten as Reina suggested? Or did her nose always look red and swollen, and too big for her delicate face?

He glanced around, expecting to see her, but didn’t.

She stay on bus, Reina said. "She look